


Summer nights of Florence

by ruttopoika



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: BDSM, M/M, i wanted to write smut but this was the best i could do lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24649453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruttopoika/pseuds/ruttopoika
Summary: ”Wipe the clouds from your eyes, Andrés,” Martín whispers and lifts the other man’s hands on his lips. ”Is it really so bad to hide, if, thanks to that, I can experience the summer nights of Florence with you?”
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 13
Kudos: 68





	Summer nights of Florence

The moss growing on the old pavement of the medieval monastery feels soft and moist under Martín’s bare feet. The lips against his own taste like 1910’s vintage Bacardi, an expensive Cuban cigar with a hint of vanilla and the kind of elegant decadence you can only feel while embracing the most masculine of temptations with your lover at a sacred place of Roman-Catholic monks. However, when Martín manages to open his eyes only to find out they have somehow drifted a bit too far from their usual snogging nook, that is protected from prying eyes by walls and pillars made of stone, he has to push the other man away.

”What’s wrong, _cariño_?” Andrés asks letting his hand find its way on Martín’s crotch, fondling lightly, which makes the other man whine ever so softly. Martín is grateful that, for once, he’s wearing his own clothes instead of one of Andrés’ suits that are worth thousands of euros. Andrés has this habit of making the other man sometimes wear his own clothing (”so you wouldn’t look so vulgar, darling!”), but today is not one of those days. And Martín is glad, cause his cock is already leaking, staining the insides of his black jeans through his boxers.  
”W-we could be seen,” Martín mumbles, but Andrés just smirks and pushes Martín against one of those huge marble sculptures that are scattered around the otherwise very open yard.  
”Oh, Martín, Martín, we have all the freedom to do whatever we want,” Andrés says quietly, his face so close that Martín can feel the movements of his lips against his own, ”besides, they have seen me do this before. And I can tell that my former lovers weren’t quite as… dressed, as you are.”  
”Yeah, well, your former lovers were women,” Martín points out, not feeling like giving into his partner’s whims today. ”I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a man.”

The remark makes Andrés’ smile fade a bit. Not completely, but enough for Martín to notice. When Andrés takes Martín’s hands in his own, Martín tilts his head, a question in his gaze.  
”Martín, _mi amor_ , I don’t want to have to hide you,” Andrés says with a serious tone, unusual for him. ”You deserve better. You deserve to be on the same level as the last ones, no, you deserve to be _above_ them, and I don’t want you to think that you’re endangering my reputation or –”

The end of the sentence is drowned under Martín’s laugh when he understands what’s going on. ”Andrés, _corazón_ , when have you began to get offended by homophobia?”

”Sleeping with another man does that to you,” Andrés answers and Martín has to use all self-control he has, so he wouldn’t start to suck the other man’s dick here and now. Just realizing how much Andrés _cares_ makes Martín’s already overproportional love grow even more. But a gentle spring wind, that ruffles their hair, makes Martín realize where they are. The monks could walk past them in any moment, and Martín knows that even if Andrés has this place in his name, those black-cloaked hypocrites could kick them out if they wanted. And neither of them wishes that. Maybe the other residents of the monastery would think of them as undesirable guests, as disgusting monsters, as _enemies_ , if they were to find out what Martín and Andrés are doing under their noses, but the place is so beautiful, so romantic, and neither of the lovers wants to let it go.

”Wipe the clouds from your eyes, Andrés,” Martín whispers and lifts the other man’s hands on his lips. ”Is it really so bad to hide, if, thanks to that, I can experience the summer nights of Florence with you?”

And Andrés can’t argue with that. He starts to lead his lover towards his bedroom, cursing in his mind that he can’t just carry Martín there like a princess. As much as he’d love to, he can’t fight the harsh reality of physics. He is just a few centimeters taller than Martín after all, and he’s never been a heavy lifter. So instead he’s just holding Martín’s hand in a firm grip, whispering sweet and dirty nothings in the other man’s ear and enjoying how he can make Martín stumble a bit only with his words; how Martín blushes when Andrés promises to tie him up and mark his back with dripping, bloody slashes.

And soon Martín has his wrists tied to the metallic post of the king-size bed, velvet curtains around him blocking most of the light, making his surroundings seem like everything is tinted with the slightest shade of purple. His body is hot as a result of the Andrés’ touches. Martín can feel the other man’s fingerprints burning on every part of his skin, and when Andrés clicks a locked metal ring around the base of his cock and kisses the small key before placing it in his pocket, Martín feels like he’s in heaven. Or hell. Andrés has that wicked smirk curling his lips. It tells Martín he is not going to have the permission to come in at least the next three hours, and even though Martín’s body is already so close, all of this is exactly what his mind craves for. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath that vibrates in his lungs, when Andrés runs his fingertips against the lines of Martín’s face.

”You are so beautiful, my dear. Whatever am I going to have to do with you?” The sheer love in Andrés’ voice makes Martín’s eyes wet.

”I don’t know, but at least don’t start filling in crosswords now, love,” Martín says, but the laughter in his voice turns into a shameless moan when Andrés suddenly takes his cock in a hard grip.  
”If you don’t act like a good boy, I might just leave you here and go do that instead,” Andrés responds and lets his well-groomed nails scrape against the surface of Martín’s shaft. ”But you wouldn’t deprive me of the joy of looking at you like this, hm?”

Martín’s head is full of fog. He only realizes he was supposed to answer, when he feels a hard slap against his cheek. Andrés is holding a cigarette in his other hand, dangerously close to Martín’s collarbones. Martín breathes the smoke in, feeling the heat radiating from the cigarette on his skin.

”No, _maestro_ ,” he answers. He’s fairly sure that retreating to Andrés’ bedroom didn’t solve their initial problem. The monks would probably hear his screams soon enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Uhh originally I wrote this in Finnish and I decided to heck it and translate it, but it was pretty hard, since my native language and English don't always work in similar ways (and I'm not a native English speaker either lmao). So uhhh please don't judge me too harshly ;;w;;


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